


Blood and Wine

by LivingSilver



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Choking, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hair-pulling, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 21:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17988773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingSilver/pseuds/LivingSilver
Summary: "Are you frightened, lovely?" The hand at her back reaches for her braid, methodically beginning to undo it."No, my lord," she lies demurely."No? You seem very frightened. I can feel your heartbeat here," he says, one hand is still around her wrist and he presses his thumb against her pulse, fluttering wildly beneath her skin.





	Blood and Wine

**Author's Note:**

> For a long time I could say "Well at least I'm not attracted to Ramsay Bolton" but I was re-watching Season 5 and you know that scene with Myranda on top really fucked me up you know like how they almost kiss, but don't, and the way his gaze falls to her lips like that shit got. me. And now here we are. Pretty sure I'm going to hell *shrugs*

"Lord Ramsay requests wine be brought to his room".

She nods to the sentry, halting her task in the kitchens to retrieve a flagon of wine, dismissing the beginnings of fear that prick her skin. She has to yet to encounter the younger Lord Bolton alone since entering the service of the house, but she has seen and heard enough to know the truth of every horrible rumor.

She knocks at the door, steeling herself to a calm neutrality.

"You may enter," he calls from the other side.

She opens the door to find him seated at his table near the fireplace. He's removed his leathers for the night, left in his breeches and a black linen shirt that hangs open to reveal the hollow of his throat down to the definition of his chest. His black curls are slightly disheveled and the firelight bathes one side of face, but it does nothing to warm the cold blue eyes she finds fixed on her.

She supposes he could be handsome.

"Wine as you requested, my lord." She approaches the table, setting the goblet near him, and pouring generously, avoiding his gaze as he studies her.

"You're new aren't you? Haven't seen you around much," Ramsay says recalling the handful of times he's seen her over the past few days, pouring wine at the table, or carrying food to and from the kitchens, noting her beauty in passing.

"Yes, my lord, it hasn't been quite a week since I came into your service." She replies lifting her eyes to his once she's done pouring.

"And how do you like it?" 

"Its an honor to serve a great house," she replies evenly, hoping he will dismiss her soon.

"A great house that flays its enemies, the bodies in the yard don't bother you?" Ramsay questions, toying with her mildly.

She curses inwardly.

"No my lord, I suppose I have nothing to fear as I'm not an enemy." She replies carefully.

Ramsay reaches for his cup, continuing to study her, noticing the slight catch in her breath at his movement. The smallest admission of fear. It will do.

"Will that be all my lord?" She asks as he drinks deeply. 

He sets the cup down, blue eyes sparkling dangerously.

"You're very pretty," Ramsay observes, ignoring her question.

She drops her gaze, flushing cold with anxiety and dread.

"My lord is too kind," she replies softly.

"Kind," Ramsay echoes smirking, raising the cup to his lips and draining the rest of the wine.

"More." He says setting the cup down, leaving it in front of him.

She moves from the end of the table to stand beside him, unnerved by his closeness, and pours another cup for him. She tries to step away as soon as she's finished, but Ramsay is faster, catching the wrist of her outstretched hand that holds the flagon.

"Set it down," he commands calmly.

When she has set it down on the table, Ramsay grabs her other wrist at her side and yanks her abruptly into his lap, setting her on his knee.

Fear trickles coolly down her spine. She's heard what happens to girls who don't please Ramsay and girls who bore Ramsay, knowing she has to play his game, but unsure of how to win.

"Such lovely skin you have. I wonder if you will still think me kind when I'm done with you," he murmurs against the column of her throat, running a thumb over her collarbone. He almost hates to ruin it. Almost. He notices the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

"Are you frightened, lovely?" The hand at her back reaches for her braid, methodically beginning to undo it.

"No, my lord," she lies demurely.

"No? You seem very frightened. I can feel your heartbeat here," he says, one hand is still around her wrist and he presses his thumb against her pulse, fluttering wildly beneath her skin.

"Perhaps you mistake desire for fear, my lord." She says dropping her voice. This is only a half lie; she can already feel her body responding to his touch despite herself.

"Is that so? I'm not often mistaken when it comes to such things, now tell me again, are you frightened?" Ramsay's lips still trail the column of her throat, one hand now stroking through her undone hair, the other hand tightening around her wrist. 

"Yes, my lord." She admits.

"Smart girl," Ramsay praises. "Are you a virgin?" He asks lowly against the shell of her ear. "And don't lie. I hate liars." 

"No, my lord." She answers without hesitation.

"Mmm good, a pretty little whore for me," Ramsay says pleased. Virgins bore him, they always cry. "Now say my name. I want you to get used to saying it, I want you to know who you belong to now," his tone is measured and imperative as he grips her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Ramsay," she acquiesces quietly, bringing her eyes up to meet his darkened ones.

He brushes his lips against hers, just so, kissing her lightly. A test--not of consent as consent is strictly optional, but merely of the desire she claimed to possess. She hesitates a moment before responding, hand coming up to rest on his chest before easing into the kiss, his full bottom lip plush against hers. Ramsay's extends his grip on her chin, adjusting his hold to span her jaw while sliding his lips possessively over hers, tongue teasing the seam of her lips briefly before licking over her top lip. She opens for him with a small gasp and he swipes his tongue into her mouth. She cautiously relaxes against him, heat beginning to pool between her legs as his tongue intently strokes and brushes hers. The hand at her jaw tightens, thumb pressing into her pulse point just below the crook until he feels it throb beneath his touch. She makes another small noise as his grip tightens further, and he swallows it eagerly, continuing to lick her open, before he gradually pulls away. He drinks in her flushed expression and kiss swollen lips while maintaining his vice grip on her jaw. She gazes at him almost defiantly, eyes clouded over with desire. Ramsay smiles.

He reluctantly releases his grip on her jaw, admiring the marks already blooming beneath his touch. He presses a chaste kiss to one of them. "Beautiful. You're going to be even lovelier when I'm done with you." 

He wraps a hand in her hair and pulls her head back sharply, exposing the line of her neck. She sighs lowly as Ramsay begins his assault just below her ear with an open mouthed kiss, lips hot against her skin, tongue flicking out to taste the sweetness of her flesh, before catching her skin between his teeth just so, knowing exactly how to leave the perfect marks. He continues licking and nipping his way to the base of her throat, savoring her shallow breaths and sharp gasps. He tugs again at the hair already caught in his grasp at the base of her skull and she moans.

Ramsay's blue eyes alight with interest.

"Oh yes, I think you're going to do quite nicely." 

He releases her hair with a smug expression, and she takes the opportunity to capture his mouth, licking into him eagerly, sucking his full bottom lip into her mouth, her hands roaming his neck and shoulders. Ramsay lifts her slightly, repositioning her to straddle his lap, both groaning against each other when she grinds against the growing hardness in his lap.

Ramsay tugs at the front laces of her simple wool dress, until the bodice loosens, and he pushes the fabric to either side to reveal her breasts. She bites her lip as he cups them, thumbing and tweaking her nipples. Whimpering when he lowers his mouth to one, she arches into the sensation, one hand finding purchase in his hair. He sucks and laves until he's satisfied he's teased her sufficiently, and then switches to the other side. 

Ramsay pulls away, gazing heavily at the valley between her breasts, and reaches for the dagger hidden beneath the sheaf of papers on the table. She regards it with passive anticipation as he brings it towards hers, his blue eyes glinting mischievously as he intentionally slows his movement, studying the unreadable glimmer in her stare, cock throbbing at the prospect of her unmarked flesh--a blank canvas.

"Don't worry lovely, this will only hurt a little," he assures her with mock sincerity before bringing the dagger point between her breasts, drawing a line thin and deep there. She inhales sharply, biting back a sound, holding her breath until the dagger is withdrawn and set aside. Blood flows freely out of the cut and Ramsay nestles his face between her cleavage, lapping at the wound, moaning when the lush, metallic taste of her blood hits his tongue. He slides a hand up her back, between her shoulder blades to keep her in place. She's unsettled by the sensation, the sting of the fresh cut soothed with every swipe of his tongue, unsure what type of person she is if she were to say she enjoyed it.

Ramsay withdraws, lips faintly stained with her blood and draws her in for a kiss, slow and deep, ensuring she tastes herself on him--warm and coppery, she flushes at the depravity of it.

He slips a hand beneath the skirt of her dress, trailing it along the inside of the softness of her thighs with thoughts of future bruises to impart.

His eyes flicker and darken as he finds her slick and wet for him, and she cants into his touch sighing his name.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, voice low and heavy with desire. He thinks of letting her ride him in this chair, how sweet it would be to have her sink down upon him, gripping her hips while he thrusts up into her--but he doesn't want her imagining she has any measure of control at this point.

He continues to tease her cunt, stroking her folds, occasionally brushing against her bundle of nerves--but never entering her, wanting to savor the pleasure of stretching her fully with his cock-- while imagining all of the ways he could have her until she's panting his name, face buried in the crook of his neck.

"Yes, lovely?" 

"Please," she asks rocking against his hand with as much dignity as she can muster.

"Please what?" 

"Please, fuck me," she finishes, too far gone to care about right or wrong; only knowing her body demands his.

"A polite whore," Ramsay remarks smartly, the sound of her delicate begging going straight to his cock.

He withdraws his hand abruptly, and she sighs at the loss of touch, but watches as he draws his fingers into his mouth, eyes falling shut as he tastes her. 

"Almost as sweet as your blood my dear," he half whispers and she shivers at the look he gives her, all darkness and hunger.

Ramsay stands, lifting her slightly and places her on the table, shoving her skirt up, and coming to stand between her thighs, eyes lingering on the blood drying between her breasts. She palms him through his breeches, and he inhales deeply, her fingers nimbly undoing the laces, until his cock is free, thick and heavy in her hand.

He guides himself to her entrance, entering her in one sharp thrust, and she's wet, but her walls are impossibly tight, and she cries out highly.

Ramsay groans at her tightness.

He pushes himself farther into her, and she hisses, walls twitching and spasming around him.

"Does it hurt?" He asks half rhetorically, fisting a hand in her hair.

"Yes," she answers, her voice reluctantly pained.

"Good." Ramsay releases her hair, hands coming to grip her hips. 

He withdraws almost fully, and thrusts into her again, savoring the pleasure of ripping her open, and again she cries out, hands braced on the table edge, willing her body to relax while Ramsay continues his measured, forceful rhythm, studying every flicker and flinch of pain that paint her features until gradually her body stretches to accommodate him. 

Ramsay sighs deeply feeling the change in her, rolling his hips against hers fluidly, she moans, hands reaching beneath his shirt, roaming briefly over the planes of his torso before slipping around to his back, fingernails finding purchase in his shoulder blades as he quickens his pace.

She moves to bury her face in the crook of his neck, but he tangles a hand in her hair, pulling her away.

"No," he pants, "I want to see you." He pulls her hair and she makes a broken kind of sound, walls clenching in response. 

He moves one hand from her hip to her cunt, pressing his thumb against the nerves at the top of her folds, and she wraps her legs around his hips in response, drawing him deeper. Ramsay fucks her hard and fast, maintaining the pull on her scalp, thumb circling her nub just so, she can feel herself tighten around him, his cock filling her so perfectly, brushing against that spot inside her with every thrust until she's shattering around him eyes fluttering shut, a series of bitten, broken off cries and moans and his name falling carelessly from her lips, nails raking deliciously into his back

"Seven hells," he curses, releasing her hair with a final tug, before wrapping his hand around her throat, pace faltering as he spills within her. He captures her lips, his cock throbbing with his release while he continues to thrust deeply within her; he kissing her roughly while increasing the pressure at her throat, imagining draining the life out of her in that moment, how she would struggle on his cock over sensitive after release, her small hands prying at his, the light leaving her eyes--his reverie is broken when she abruptly pulls away from the kiss, trying to get what little air she can. He maintains his hold, riding out the aftershock of his release in shallow half thrusts but she gives as good as she gets, digging her nails into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood. Only when he slows to a stop does he release his grasp, but not before holding her wrathful, defiant glare for long moments, relief sliding in when he finally releases his hand and she gasps deeply for air.

She withdraws her nails from his shoulders, trailing a hand down his spine while he watches the imprint of his hand turn to a bruise at her throat.

"Will my lord want wine again tomorrow night?" She questions after a minute or two of silence.

A slow, sardonic grin spreads across Ramsay's features.

"Yes, I think I will."


End file.
